


Worth a Thousand Words

by Gladrial



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dashed Plot Lines, F/M, Multiple Time Skips, Normalization of Abusive Relationship, References to The Killing Joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladrial/pseuds/Gladrial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some photographers get that lucky, career making shot. And some wish they hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: RisqueSno
> 
> Spoilers: Basic knowledge of Joker's history.
> 
> Disclaimer: DC owns all these characters and WB owns DC and Time Warner owns WB and I'm pretty sure the rest of the world.
> 
> Author Notes: Here's another view into the Joker from a third party viewer, which you guys know I like. Harley will show up toward the end, but she does not predominate in this piece. Most of the focus is actually on my OC, Henry Grey. I'm not expecting as much attention to this story because of that. I have a prejudice against OCs myself, so it's perfectly understandable. However, I think this is one of my better written pieces, technically speaking, and it features surprise guest appearances. For those of you willing to give it a go, thank you and I hope you enjoy. (PS – This piece jumps between the past and present. The timeline indicated isn't precise and simply refers to events that happened within a chunk of years.)

_What time was it anyway? 10pm. Damn. Charlene was going to be mad. Then again, maybe not. She hadn't called yet; maybe she understood._

He was startled out of this reverie by the janitor entering, pulling behind him a cart of cleaning supplies. "Mr. Grey, are you still here? You should be home."

The janitor was old, much older than Henry and Henry was far from a young man. His skin sagged and his back hunched a bit. He moved slowly, but with purpose. Henry was embarrassed to realize that he didn't recall his name despite the fact they'd both been working at the Gotham Gazette for decades.

"Retirement isn't the end of the world Mr. Grey," the janitor added, since Henry had failed to respond.

"No, I don't suppose it is," Henry laughed, but secretly wondered why the man before him hadn't done so himself. What sad fate forced him to press on? "And you're right, I need to get home. The wife will be worried." He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of fresh ink he loved so much, when his phone rang.

"Is that the missus now?" the janitor asked.

"No, it's my other phone," Henry answered pointedly. It was known as his 'tip line' and when it rang, everyone knew he'd be dashing out the door immediately, whether he was in the office, sitting down to a family dinner, or in the middle of a good night's sleep. (Most often it was the latter, much to his wife's annoyance.)

Family and co-workers assumed that he had a long roster of people that knew to call him when they caught whiff of a story about to break. The truth was only one person had access to that line. Only one person ever used it. Only one person could be on the other end.

Henry mused over the phone still ringing in his hand and wondered what he should do. Technically he was retired. He didn't _have_ to do anything and had nothing left to prove. But then, the person phoning him had basically handed him his career on a platter. Henry had wanted to let him know about his retirement, only feeling that right. Unfortunately, he was pretty much an impossible man to track down. If Henry believed in such things, he'd say that fate was causing his phone to ring tonight of all nights.

"What the hell. Let's go out with a bang," he decided goodheartedly.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Grey, but you get yourself straight home afterwards," the janitor responded with some concern.

Henry took little note of him as he walked out the door and answered his phone. "Where and when do you need me?" he asked.

"Well, it's about time! I was beginning to think you were going to leave me high and dry. You know how upset that would make me," the voice on the other end said threateningly.

Henry assured the voice confidently, "I would never do that, Mr. Joker."

* * *

_Twenty Years Ago_

Henry had hit rock bottom. It wasn't his fault, of course, but that didn't stop his wife from walking out on him. How could he have possibly predicted that the factory would shut down? After fifteen years of working there, he had received some sort of settlement check but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough to start over with.

At least the divorce was cheap. It was kind of hard to hit a guy up for alimony when he's unemployed. And it was the first time that he was thankful that they were unable to have children. Still, he found little solace in this as he switched residence into a cheap, dingy flat and watched what was left of his money and possessions slowly disappear.

It wasn't as though he sat around feeling sorry for himself day after day. Henry eagerly looked for employment everywhere, anywhere, but the market was saturated and anyone hiring had their eyes on younger men than he.

It was in this situation that Henry returned to an old hobby on a desperate whim. He had always enjoyed photography and rarely was caught without a camera in hand or around his neck in high school. The way his mother talked, you'd think National Geographic was just waiting for him to graduate so they could snatch him up. But that's the way all mothers were, Henry knew, and had no delusions that he'd ever aspire to anything above his school paper and yearbook.

He never would've imagined that he'd find himself approaching the Gotham Gazette in the vain hope of employment fifteen years later. Henry was grateful that they didn't immediately show him the door, but they were completely indifferent to him all the same. A cold receptionist threw him some paperwork and told him to return if he captured anything worthwhile for his commission.

Commission. So that's why he wasn't turned down right away. _Based on the receptionist's demeanor_ , _a dozen like me must show up every week_ , Henry realized with a sinking heart. Still, there was no reason he couldn't keep his eyes peeled for something newsworthy while he continued job hunting.

And so Henry's camera had become his faithful companion once again. It came with him to the unemployment office, to interviews, to the grocery store, and everywhere in between. Here and there, he'd return to the Gazette in the hopes that one of his pictures were worth something. Aside from one he took of a burning building, they weren't, and he didn't get much even for that one. _Probably would have gotten more if somebody had died it in_ , he thought and chastised himself immediately.

He had discovered that many of his colleagues at the paper were positioning themselves on rooftops all night, hoping to capture the elusive Batman. This, Henry thought, was extraordinarily silly. First of all, he didn't think the guy really existed and was more likely a ploy from the desperate GCPD to scare thugs. He always shook his head when that ridiculous light appeared in the sky, wondering who was stupid enough to buy this urban myth. Secondly, if he existed, the odds of him choosing your rooftop to pose on were astronomical, especially since he clearly disliked being seen. And finally, Henry firmly believed that no career could be made off a single shot anyway; it took years of proving your quality, as it did in any field of work.

Needless to say, Henry stayed off rooftops and stuck to the ground. The ground was where the action was, where people lived, where emotion could be found. That's what people who weren't interested in cheap tabloids wanted to see. He wasn't thinking about any of this, however, while standing in line at the bank to make a withdrawal, being preoccupied with thoughts about how much longer until there wouldn't be anything left to draw from.

It was at that moment when some rather colorful characters burst onto the scene, brandishing guns with a clear intent to rob the bank. If you hadn't been in the middle of a stick up, you hadn't been living in Gotham very long and Henry had been born and raised here, so his first feeling was that of annoyance rather than fear. Who knew when the bank would be replenished? He needed to pay his rent today. Fortunately, this thought lasted all of two seconds before he remembered his camera and quickly started snapping pictures of the guy that was clearly the ringleader.

He got a few shots in before orders were shouted. It was the usual 'down on the floor', 'hands where we can see 'em', and the like. Henry followed their instructions while trying to place the criminal whose picture he just took: a clown all in purple. He seemed to remember something about a clown on the news not too long ago. _Wasn't he a killer?_ he thought, trying to jog his memory.

Almost as in answer to his question, the man fired a shot and a teller that was formerly reaching for the panic button had a hole where her face used to be. Okay, _now_ Henry was scared, scared enough that he didn't dare move and, in fact, tried to limit his breathing as much as possible. A couple of people were chosen in his line for a bullet as well, though Henry could hardly see the point of it. They weren't doing anything to hinder the burglary. Thankfully, they left him alone and took off before the authorities arrived.

There were people panicking in the aftermath, some crying hysterically. Henry, on the other hand, composed himself relatively quickly and started taking pictures of the scene. He took pictures of people's reactions. He took pictures of the bodies, as morbid as that was, but morbid sells he reminded himself. He repeatedly stated aloud that he was with the paper so that people wouldn't think him some kind of whackjob. Then the police arrived and demanded the crime scene be cleared.

* * *

"Chief, this is great!" an excitable man said to another sitting behind a desk.

"Yes, we thought we were only going to have a shot of the police cleanup to go with this story," the chief directed to Henry in a slow drawl. "But you somehow managed to get a shot of…the Jester, was it?"

"The Joker," the excited man corrected.

"Right, right, him," the chief continued, twirling a pen between his fingers back and forth frantically; it was the only thing that took away from his calm demeanor. "How'd you get 'em, son?"

Son? Well, that seemed out of place. Henry was on the high side of his thirties. He couldn't help but take it as an attempt to show who was in charge and who was some nobody that only got paid in commission. "Just at the right place at the right time, sir," he replied cryptically.

"…That's fine," the chief answered, not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Well, I expect you know you'll be getting a nice size check today, but I'll expect free use of _all_ the pictures from the scene. Are we clear?" Henry thought the pen might be moving faster in his hand as time went by.

"Yes, sir, it's just…rather than commission, what I'd really like is a steady job.

"You want salary," the chief clarified. "I can hardly blame you for that, but let's not be too hasty. You have impressed me today, certainly, but for all I know it was a stroke of luck. You might be just a flash in the pan and where would that leave me? But you bring me more pictures like these and we'll sit down and have another talk about it. Draw our photographer here a check," he instructed the other man.

"Right away, sir! I can't wait to get these down to the boys in print," he exited quickly and the chief indicated that Henry follow him.

"Sir-," he tried one more time.

"Now, now," the chief got up to physically escort him out. "You go get me some more pictures for our paper. Hope to see you again soon, Harry."

"It's Henry," he corrected as the door shut on his face.

* * *

The check Henry held on his way home did little to raise his spirits. He knew getting those pictures was stupid luck, just as the chief had predicted. There was no way he'd ever hope to manage getting something that amazing again. If only he had worked his way up to it. Now, anything he brought in would be expected to be of equal caliber.

He went about the city looking for anything worthy of interest, but didn't come up with much, which wasn't surprising. It was very late that night before he gave up and headed home.

Henry entered his dark apartment and didn't bother turning on the lights. He was tired and depressed and heading straight for bed. The only light that showed was from a digital clock flashing the digits 4:52. He stumbled across the floor due to the darkness and exhaustion, when he became acutely aware of eyes watching him.

"Is someone there?" he exclaimed with unintentional panic.

" _Someone_ is," came a voice from a dark corner of the room. There was a man sitting in his recliner, but all he could make out was his feet propped up on the coffee table.

Henry glanced around for something within reach that could be used as a weapon while gathering his wits. "What do you want?" he asked with more courage in his voice. "Money? Fat chance of that here, pal. I'd like some myself."

The intruder sniffed in disgust at the suggestion, but didn't acknowledge it otherwise. "Have you seen today's paper?" he asked instead. "I always have mine picked up early. Take a look."

The stranger tossed the paper at Henry's feet. He bent down to pick it up without taking his eyes off the shadowed character, still unsure what all of this was about. He found one of the pictures he took of the clown on the cover. "Front page!" Henry exclaimed with pride, momentarily forgetting the intruder. "…I should have asked for more money."

At that, the mysterious figure started to laugh and it wasn't a pleasant one. It sent a shudder down Henry's spine, putting him back into a defensive posture. "More money, you say? Well…that might be arranged if you play smart," the man said as he pulled the cord on a lamp sitting adjacent to him, revealing himself to be the same person featured on the front page of the paper Henry was holding.

"WHOA!" Henry cried out, jumping back instantly. The clown didn't make any movement or gesture to suggest what his intentions were, but seemed to be watching for what he might do next. "Okay, okay, listen, okay," Henry stammered nervously. "You…you don't want anymore pictures taken of you. That's…that's it. I won't take anymore. Promise!"

"Don't be an idiot!" the Joker snapped back. "I just said there may be money in this for you. Keep up!"

"…Money? For what? …You aren't going to kill me?" Henry asked desperately.

"Kill you?!" the Joker shouted as he rose to his feet and strode to where Henry stood, taking the paper from his hand and shoving the picture into his face. "Now why would I want to go and kill someone with an eye like yours?"

"Wha-?" Henry was trying to form coherent thoughts, but they didn't seem to be forthcoming.

"I've started a scrapbook," the Joker went on conversationally. "Not much in it yet, but there's room to grow. This is my favorite in it so far."

"…Th-thanks?" he managed to get out.

"You're very welcome, but I didn't come here to exchange pleasantries. We need to keep the ball rolling, yes? Can't let news of myself go stagnant. So I'll do what I do best, and you'll take pictures of it. Here," he forced a beeper into Henry's hand. "When this goes off, you call the number and I'll give you directions. Easy as pie. Kay?"

"Uh-," Henry replied, utterly dumbfounded.

"Great! See you soon. I'll most likely kill you tomorrow," the Joker declared happily as he slammed the door to Henry's flat behind him.

 _What just happened?_ Henry thought. _And did he just say he was going to kill me? I thought he said he didn't want to kill me!_

Henry glanced at the beeper in his hand and knew exactly what to do. He went to the window, readied to throw it out and watch it smash on the pavement below. But just as he raised his hand to do so, a figure in purple appeared on the sidewalk and waved up at him, prompting him to slowly back away from the window.

* * *

Henry barely slept since that frightful visit and what little he did was fitful. Tomorrow had come and gone and he was still alive. He supposed that was reason to be grateful.

He had contemplated ridding himself of the pager time and again, but fear stopped him. It seemed such a simple thing to do, to throw it away and move across town. But the clown hadn't had any trouble finding him once already (however he'd done it) and he saw no reason that would change.

He found one of his pictures on the next day's paper with the caption: "Joker Still at Large". It did little to ease his mind. _Maybe he'll be arrested soon,_ Henry thought hopefully. _Then it'll all be over._

Unfortunately, only two days after receiving it, the ominous pager started beeping. Henry robotically called the number indicated and felt completely detached as he received a place he was supposed to be and a time he was supposed to be there. He abruptly hung up after replying, "Uh-huh" to confirm he understood his instructions.

It wasn't until afterward that it really sunk it and his hands started to shake uncontrollably. He got up and started pacing in a circle to give his body something to do. _And just what is it I'm supposed to do?_ He thought, in a panic. _I could call the police and give them the information. Then they'd finally have him in custody. Sure, that makes sense._

He picked up the phone, ready to dial, but froze and slowly put the phone back on the receiver. Fear had gotten hold of him again. Instead, he grabbed his camera and headed out the door.

When he arrived at the assigned location, he saw that it was a swanky get-together, the kind of place Henry never expected to find himself. He had no issues getting in though, because those 'keeping the gate' had bigger problems with a known murderer robbing those attending of their valuables. Glamorous people were huddled together, frightened.

He thought he should alert the Joker to his presence in some manner, but he seemed kind of wrapped up in the moment. Henry shuffled his feet for a moment, trying to decide what to do, when he concluded that maybe the best thing was to take pictures like the guy seemed to want. The flash of light from his first snapshot got the Joker's attention.

"Oh good, you're here!" he exclaimed brightly. "Well, don't just stand there. Keep going!" Joker mimed clicking pictures until Henry started taking more on his own. "And don't forget to take some of them," he added, pointing at a couple of bodies on the floor. "They thought they could play hero. So sad."

Henry cringed at the sight of the bodies, but did as he was told. Truthfully, he was glad they were dead before he got there, rather than after. He couldn't have helped but feel somewhat responsible for not trying to alert someone if he'd gotten there and watched a person get murdered. _These people…well, they would have been dead anyway_ , he told himself and went about his business, trying not to think too hard about it.

"Did you get my good side?" Joker teased, as his boys seemed to be wrapping things up.

"Uh…" Henry floundered for words.

"I'm just kidding! They're both my good side!"

"O-okay. 'S cool." Henry removed the film from his camera and held it out for him. "…So, money? …I guess?" Honestly, he'd just as soon throw the film at his feet and run out, but the clown hadn't made any aggressive movements against him since they'd met and Henry almost suspected that he'd find the gesture rude, which could potentially make him a target.

"What are you doing?" the Joker questioned with a sneer.

"Y-you said for me to take the pictures and I'd get paid. But if you don't want to it's cool!" Henry finished quickly.

"Do you mean to tell me they aren't going to pay top dollar for those at that mundane little paper of yours?" he asked, and it was clear that he found the very thought insulting.

"You…you _want_ them published?" Henry stuttered in bewilderment.

"Well of course I want them published! I'm trying to send a message here! Get with the program!" Joker snapped.

He put the film back in his pocket. "S-sure. No problem. Do…do you want a cut?" Henry asked, still trying to figure out the guy's angle.

"No, you keep your precious money," he sniffed. "I do expect copies though. I'll contact you soon with an address to mail them to. Now, you toddle on home and make sure that I'm on the front page again tomorrow. Oh, and do make sure to hold on to that beeper. I'll be contacting you again, I'm sure."

Henry nodded silently and headed for the exit. From behind him he heard the Joker's farewell, "Bye, Cameraman! I'll most likely kill you tomorrow." It was a phrase he'd end up all too familiar with.

* * *

Henry took the pictures to the paper that night. A great deal of commotion rang through the office as those at the head of the paper were being called back in, having already left for the evening. He was quickly swept into a little office again and, before he knew it, he had a job. A real, honest to God, job. What's more, it turned out he still got commission on top of his salary for pictures like the ones he brought in today.

Still, the achievement left him feeling lukewarm. He had no doubt he could do the job as he'd be taking assignments often. Being told what to shoot was a lot easier than finding it on your own. But the way in which he got the position made him sick to his stomach.

The following day, the paper featured another of his pictures on the front page covering the robbery. He found a copy of it slipped under his door with a P.O. Box address scribbled at the top. It only accentuated his nausea. He swung by the post office to mail the pictures in the middle of other errands to make himself feel better, make it seem a normal part of his routine somehow.

The next few days went by rather peacefully. Henry was on assignment at a museum due to a new temporary exhibit that was circulating the country. It was horribly boring against what he had been taking pictures of and he couldn't imagine why the readers would care about the article. This didn't really bother him though. He was getting paid regularly and felt guilt-free about snapping pictures of inanimate artifacts. A curator was in the middle of a brain-numbing speech when his beeper went off again. Henry quickly left the museum for something more newsworthy.

The shoot went much the same as the previous one, the only difference being that he was over the initial shock. Henry, showed up, took some pictures, avoided as much contact with his subject as he could, and was reminded to mail the copies. As he took his leave he heard the familiar, "I'll most likely kill you tomorrow," follow after him. The next day he once again received accolades from his employers.

It wasn't a bad system on the surface. He was making a good deal of money and doing so legally. (At least, he didn't think anyone would blame him for not coming forward, fearing for his life.) And no threat had been made toward him physically as of yet. All that aside, he wanted out. Living in fear was nerve-wracking and he felt trapped, having no say in the matter.

In short, despite the fact that things had been moving in a positive direction, Henry didn't feel like he had a hand in any of it. He felt that his life was completely beyond his control, which was probably why what happened at his next infamous shoot meant more to him than he would have expected.

Henry was trying to get some decent shots in while the Joker threatened a group of people, but he was worried they wouldn't turn out. The major light source was behind the madman and it contrasted so with the dark on the other side of the room that he didn't think even his flash was going to save the subject from being blacked out or at least muted.

The problem was getting to the opposite side of the clown so that the light worked for him, not against. Walking across the room would seem simple enough on the outside, but Henry had done a good job keeping his distance and unnoticed for the most part, letting his zoom do the work. The Joker was in a frenzy, pacing back and forth madly while shouting something that Henry really wasn't paying attention to, his mind on the job, and he didn't think moving around the character would go unnoticed.

Then again, Henry hated taking poor pictures, always going for the best shot, and, more importantly, he didn't think the Joker would be very happy with what he'd taken so far either. With this in mind Henry started to awkwardly make his way across the room, pausing occasionally to reassess the situation and then starting again.

Had his trepidation not been so obvious he probably would have crossed over unnoticed, but that was not to be. Henry had clearly been picked up on the Joker's radar by the curious look he gave him with a cock of the head. Again, if Henry would have just gone about his business the moment probably would have passed just as quickly as it began, but instead he blurted, "Light! Light-bad!"

He felt like an idiot, which the Joker apparently picked up on as he responded, "And is 'light-good' over here?"

Henry nodded quickly.

"Well then, get to it," he ordered. Henry positioned himself and they both got back to what they had been doing before the interruption.

Afterwards, a few bodies were strewn across the floor, some goons were packing away some loot, but the cops still hadn't arrived. Joker had ensured that no one in the room was able to contact for help. Henry was packing up himself, when the Joker addressed him personally. He cringed when he heard him call, "Cameraman!" from across the room and saw him stride over.

"I'm sorry about earlier!" Henry started once he was at his side. "It's just-"

"Tut tut, my boy," he shushed him. For a moment the 'my boy' reference gave Henry pause. He was fairly sure he was older than the madman…though it was admittedly hard to tell. It reminded him of his boss back at the paper. "Are you afraid of me?" the Joker inquired sincerely.

"Uh-," Henry stuttered, having thought that quite obvious.

"Of course you are," Joker finished for him and seemed to find the realization conflicting. "Walk with me, Cameraman."

He walked beside the Joker stiffly. The lunatic was clearly about to have a conversation with him, but Henry didn't know how he'd possibly join in or what he might say that'd make him snap.

"What you are doing in my organization is of the utmost importance," he started rather casually. "I'm trying to create an image and I need you to convey that. Do you understand?"

"A-an image? Like an actor?" Henry clarified.

"No, not like an actor," the Joker replied, exasperated. "When the actor who wants to label himself the 'action/adventure' guy goes home, he's no longer the marketable persona he's created for himself. He's just some schmuck. It's all phony, right?"

"R-right," Henry agreed.

"But I'm not, Cameraman," he continued, with growing excitement. "What you see here, that's me. When I go home, I'm still this amazing! Can you imagine?!"

"W-wow!" Henry tried to sound enthused, because it's what he seemed to want. He wasn't sure he quite sold it but, if he didn't, the Joker gave no notice. _Why won't he just let me go home?_ Henry begged inwardly.

"I know! That's what I'm trying to convey to all the little people back home. Give them something to bring them out of their humdrum lives," Joker elaborated. "Let them know that I live among and, to do that, I have to let them know who I am, now don't I? Are you following me?"

Henry nodded up and down, but really wasn't sure if he was, and especially didn't know why he had to hear any of this.

"That's where you come in. I need the best shots of me possible. So if you need to do something to make it better, you do it! If you have a suggestion, come out with it! I chose you, remember? Don't be shy!"

"…Sure thing, boss," Henry answered. He wasn't sure where the 'boss' reference came from, but decided it was because that's how most of the people he was exposed to referred to him.

"Great! You go on home now. I'll see you again soon."

Henry walked away but heard from behind him, "Bye, Cameraman! I'll most likely kill you tomorrow." He managed a weak smile because he was beginning to think that this was some running gag he was supposed to find humorous.

* * *

Henry had no idea whether or not the Joker had been genuine with him, but he was surprised to find that he appreciated the gesture all the same. It made sense the clown didn't want him dead as he could hardly take care of business and photograph himself simultaneously. Furthermore, Henry would admit that he did know what he was doing. He was a little rusty, but it was coming back to him.

Besides, he didn't think anything he was doing was illegal when it came right down to it. He wasn't receiving any direct payment from the man himself and people in the news biz got 'tips' all the time. And Henry couldn't deny, when reflecting on things like the new apartment he just acquired in a much better part of town, that the whole thing had been working out for him rather well.

Such rationalizations made him feel more free, like he had remained in the situation voluntarily. His confidence was on the rise and he stopped feeling so squeamish every time he heard someone's beeper go off.

He found himself getting closer to achieve better angles at subsequent shoots. The improvement was noticed at the paper where his boss was quite impressed that he was able to get better looking shots of the dangerous man when no one else could seem to get much of him at all. He had job offers from other papers and magazines (particularly tabloids) offering him the moon to switch under their employ. He would have taken the offers seriously, but he didn't think that the Joker would appreciate him leaving the city's biggest paper and he wasn't quite comfortable asking for a raise with the short amount of time he'd been at the Gazette. _I'll give it a little longer, then bring it up,_ Henry decided, confident that the offers would still be on the table.

Just when Henry was beginning to feel more comfortable with the arrangement, it had come down the wire that the Joker had been incarcerated. Henry found out in the unique and unsettling way of the chief bellowing it to him in front of the entire office. Apparently, it had been Henry's fault that the event had not been photographed and rumor had it that Batman had been responsible for taking him in, so he was also responsible for not getting the first picture of the caped crusader on top of it all. (If he even existed.)

It wasn't Henry's fault, of course. He hadn't received a page and didn't know that anything was going down. He handled the situation by calmly suggesting that if they were not pleased with his work, he could take his business elsewhere. He elaborated briefly on some of the job opportunities that had been offered to him and, in the end, not only did the chief back down, but he was given a raise to ensure his loyalty to the paper.

Henry supposed that was that. The Joker was being sent to spend the remainder of his days in Arkham Asylum. His meal ticket was gone, but he'd gotten a job and pay raise out of him beforehand. Henry was confident he could do his job satisfactorily even if he didn't produce some of the miraculous shots he had recently. He probably wouldn't rise to a higher position in the paper because of this, but he was comfortable enough as it was.

 _All's well that ends well,_ Henry concluded.


	2. Chapter 2

Present Day

Henry had plenty of time to get where he was supposed to be, or so he thought. He was casually heading down the building's stairwell, neglecting the elevator, still feeling reluctance toward leaving. That's when he heard a large crack of thunder and the sound of rain pelting the side of the building. The sky seemed to have opened up in an instant.

Henry started to run down the stairwell now. Driving through the busy streets of Gotham in the middle of a storm was next to impossible. The amount of accidents that were bound to happen, from people too stupid to slow down when they could barely see five feet from their windshield, would make traffic come to a halt.

Henry reached the buildings main entrance out of breath, unfurled his umbrella, and stepped out into the squall. He discovered that his umbrella wasn't just shielding him from rain, but small pellets of hail as well. At that moment, Henry saw one car rear-end another. Quickly, two more cars joined in the accident. Any other time, he would have dutifully taken out his camera, but he was retired and his last shot wasn't going to something so menial.

"Think I'll take the subway," he said to himself, feeling that it was the safest option and the only one that had a chance to get him where he needed to be on time.

Fifteen Years Ago

Henry had only been to Metropolis a couple of times as a child and was excited to see what the city had to offer him now that he was an adult. Of course, he couldn't forget the real reason he and his colleagues were there: the convention. Play would have to wait for the evenings, but Henry was almost as excited about the work. He was attending a panel on future photographic technology.

His only regret was that he couldn't bring Charlene, his wife. After his first wife abruptly left when he needed her the most, Henry didn't think he'd ever be able to trust someone enough to carry the title 'husband' a second time. Then again, he hadn't ever thought it possible that someone as wonderful as Charlene to exist or maybe he wouldn't have been so cynical. Not only did the two of them hit it off immediately, but he quickly became just as devoted to her son, the child he and his former wife were never able to have.

Charlene hasn't ever been to Metropolis and would have loved the opportunity, Henry reflected as he made his way through the crowd attending the convention. Unfortunately, the Gotham Gazette employees were discouraged from bringing family members so that they would focus on the convention and team building. Henry decided to make it a point to scout out restaurants and sites she'd want to see for a future trip.

Henry was mulling these thoughts over while trying to determine the location of the panel he was supposed to be attending, when he suddenly found himself sprawled across the lobby floor.

"Watch where you're going!" Henry demanded of the young man lying on the floor beside him who had mowed him over, likely rushing from one panel to the next.

"Crap," the man cursed under his breath while checking his camera for damage. "Sorry 'bout that, mister -?" he inquired, offering his hand to help the older man to his feet.

"Henry. Henry Grey," he answered, rising to his feet without assistance. Instantly, Henry saw the young man's eyes light up with recognition and knew why. Instantly all feelings of annoyance melted away.

"The Joker guy!" the man exclaimed, excitedly. "Don't move," he implored. "Steve will want to meet you."

Before Henry could reply to his request, the man was off as quickly as had been before running into him, only this time he was also shouting the name, "Steve!" repeatedly over the hum of the crowd. It was only a few moments before he saw two young men purposefully making their way toward him, one presumably named 'Steve'.

"See? I told you. It's him!" the first man introduced Steve to Henry.

"No way," Steve gawked, but relaxed after Henry warmly shook both their hands. "Are you part of a panel?" he asked. "Because we'd totally cancel what we've got going on to attend."

Henry laughed. What could he possibly discuss at a convention? How to get supremely lucky? How to get stalked by a maniac?

"No," Henry answered simply. "I'm here to learn, just like the two of you. In fact, based on the direction you two were going, I think we're attending the same seminar. How would you like to hear a story as we head over there?"

The young men eagerly followed behind him, listening intently.

Henry had come to find, as had the rest of Gotham, that the Joker couldn't be held for very long. The subsequent five years of personal photo shoots had established Henry as a recognized and respected member of both the photography and news industries. While he was not a household name, he did hold a level of celebrity in certain circles, so Henry had gotten used to and even enjoyed the extra attention he was occasionally afforded.

The trio had arrived at the panel they were to be attending to find a group of photographers crowded around the entrance rather than taking their seats. Henry approached a short man jumping behind the crowd occasionally, trying to see over the heads of the taller men in front of him.

"What's all the commotion about?" Henry inquired.

"Jimmy Olsen," the short man answered simply, as he attempted to jump again.

"The Superman guy!" gasped the duo that had accompanied Henry.

"Are you sure?" Henry asked excitedly as he began standing on his tip-toes, trying to get a better look. He had always been interested in Olsen's career as the kid had gained a similar measure of celebrity in much the same way he had.

"The two of you have to meet!" Steve emphatically instructed Henry.

"Why?" the short man asked, perturbed with the idea that someone who came along after him should warrant an introduction when he couldn't even see the guy. "What's so special about him?"

"I'll have you know that this is the Henry Grey," Steve answered pretentiously, as though the two of them were close friends.

The short man ignored Steve's demeanor, seeing the opening he'd been looking for. Without warning, he grabbed Henry's wrist and was pulling him through the crowd while shouting, "Move it! Henry Grey coming through!" The crowd eagerly stepped aside as best they could for the name, but it was still a tight squeeze. Henry found himself jostled into a woman he recognized to be Pulitzer prize winner, Lois Lane.

"Hey! Watch it," she snapped. "See what I mean, Clark? This is ridiculous."

"Let Jimmy enjoy the spotlight for a moment, Lois," Clark retorted. "He rarely gets this kind of attention."

"Whatever. This isn't even our seminar anyway," she griped, beginning to push her way out of the crowd.

"We'll catch you later this evening, Jimmy," Clark said before following Lois.

"Sure thing, Mr. Kent," Jimmy called after him, before having Henry pushed in his general direction.

"Jimmy Olsen, this is Henry Grey," the short man introduced, happy to be part of the moment.

Henry was taken aback by how young he actually was and for a moment was a bit jealous about the extra time Olsen would have to build his career compared to himself. The moment passed quickly however and he vigorously shook the younger man's hand. "It's truly an honor to finally meet you," he said genuinely.

"I've heard a lot about you too," Olsen offered with less enthusiasm, for reasons Henry didn't understand and almost immediately decided he was reading the man incorrectly.

Henry pulled out a small portfolio he'd been carrying of his work and requested that Jimmy do the same. He obliged, but seemed standoffish in doing so as they exchanged portfolios.

"These are utterly fantastic!" Henry complimented, hoping to put Olsen at ease as he seemed rather tense. Maybe all this attention makes him uncomfortable, Henry surmised.

"Uh…How'd you'd get these," the young man asked after perusing some of his more impressive Joker portraits. Henry noted that he had not returned the compliment.

"The same way you did, I'd imagine," Henry answered shortly, ready to conclude this meeting. Maybe he's just an asshole, Henry decided.

Jimmy closed Henry's portfolio abruptly and handed it back to him. "I'm Superman's friend," he stated in a tone that Henry found disconcerting.

"I'm not sure what you are trying to imply-," Henry began, but was cut off by an announcement that the seminar was beginning. All of the photographers shuffled inside to find a seat.

Yep, definitely an asshole, Henry concluded.


	3. Chapter 3

_Present Day_

This time of night, a subway was far from the safest place to be in any city, much more so in Gotham. The downpour didn't help the situation as drifters poured into the shelter provided below. To make matters even worse, he wasn't heading for the most savory part of town.

Henry long ago started preparing himself for these sorts of situations and kept a registered firearm with him when away from the house. He knew how to use it…or did when he first got it. He hadn't practiced with it in quite some time, but it wasn't something he thought about much. Despite the precaution, there never had come a time when he had actually needed it.

The gun was there, but more ornamental than anything. Far more important, he had learned long ago, was in the manner you carried yourself. An air of confidence went a long way. Those that seemed out of place were easy prey, but if you acted like you knew what you were doing, people tended to avoid you.

So Henry nonchalantly side-stepped the riff-raff settling down for the night below, as he stepped onto the subway.

* * *

_Ten Years Ago_

They were settled down around the table for a late family dinner, an increasingly rare event given their son was nearing graduation and had a budding social life. As they were chatting about his upcoming college plans, Henry's cell phone (given to him in place of his outdated beeper) rang, resulting in an exasperated sigh from Charlene.

Henry shrugged in a pitiful apology as he excused himself from the table and took the call in another room.

"Cameraman!" the Joker urgently began, before he even had a chance to utter a 'hello'.

"Yeah. Where do you need-," Henry began.

"No! Shut up!" the madman barked at him without provocation. Over the phone, Henry could hear cars screeching wildly and the honking of horns. He dutifully closed his mouth, waiting for instructions. "You have a black room?"

"What? Like, in my home? …Yeah," Henry answered with hesitation, not sure he liked where this was going.

"Good! Good, good, good," he responded giddily. "I'm coming to pay you a visit."

"What?! No!" Henry blurted out without thinking.

"No? Did you just tell me 'no'?" Joker asked incredulously.

"No!" Henry repeated, in an attempt to back out.

"You just did it again!" he said, with growing disbelief.

"No! I mean- …Dammit," Henry muttered under his breath.

The Joker responded with unfettered laughter. "See you soon, Cameraman," he concluded and abruptly hung up.

Henry didn't know what was more disconcerting: the fact that a notorious madman was heading to his house or the fact that he didn't seem to need directions on how to get there. These thoughts didn't linger longer than two seconds before the more immediate issue came to mind. "Shit," he cursed, as he rushed back to the dining room.

"You two need to get out of here. Now," he told Charlene earnestly.

"What's going on?" his son asked, clearly worried by the tone in his father's voice.

"Just do what he says," Charlene urged. "Go pack."

"No time. Just get out. Don't just stare at me!" he replied to her worried glare. "GO!"

"You're coming with us," she insisted as they rushed for the car.

"I can't, but don't worry about me," he assured her. "It'll be fine."

She gave him a knowing look. They never spoke of his little side jobs, and Henry always liked to think she didn't know anything about it, but at that moment he knew better. The only thing she said to mark the moment was, "We're not leaving you."

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "If I'm not here when… If I'm not here, it'll be far worse." Her face didn't soften and he felt she was going to press the issue further. "If you don't hear from me in an hour, you can call the police."

She scrunched her face in an effort to fight off an emotional outburst and silently nodded before backing out of their garage, knowing she was about to face the longest hour of her life.

Henry breathed a sigh of relief when the taillights of her car disappeared from view. Then a whole new wave of tension overwhelmed him when a pair of headlights pulled up from the opposite direction. He rushed back inside to quickly prep his dark room, leaving the front door open for his guest, which he heard slam shut followed by his given name being shouted.

"Cameraman!"

"Over here, Mr. Joker," Henry returned, dashing down the hallway from his dark room to meet him. However, upon arriving at his front door, he found no one there, so he took to searching the rooms of his house and found him in the dining room, enjoying the spread Charlene had laid out.

The first thing he noticed though was the Joker's odd choice of clothing. Granted, his fashion sense tended to be rather exuberant, but Henry couldn't think of a time he'd ever seen him in anything that came close to resembling the Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt he was currently donning.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," the Joker commented, eating off Henry's plate. "I see three places set out, but no one's here. Did the three bears need their porridge to cool?" he added dryly.

"They had to step out," Henry confirmed.

The Joker briefly awarded Henry a discerning stare, before commenting, "Smart man. I'm hardly a Goldilocks after all." He turned his attention back to the plate in front of him. "Ah well, more for me, I suppose."

With his hand not concerned with the task of eating, Joker reached into the pocket of his shorts and emerged with a roll of film, tossing it at Henry. "How long will it take?" he asked between bites.

"An hour," Henry answered, and was instantly given the impression it was not the desired response. "I have the best equipment on hand," he elaborated, as he tried to force his heart rate to slow. "Anyone else's personal dark room would take you several."

The Joker breathed in deeply with annoyance, but eventually agreed. "One hour," he uttered, in a way that sounded more like a warning: a warning that it had better not take longer than that.

Henry rushed to his dark room, thankful that he hadn't let his nerves get the best of him yet. He knew his guest was not a patient man. That said, it wasn't as though he could change the laws of physics, but he'd seen first-hand that simple logic had little impact on the madman's decisions.

Instead of focusing on what he couldn't control, Henry chose to focus on the job he'd been given, finding repose in something familiar to do with his mind and hands. The familiarity of the task did, indeed, calm him down and he'd all but forgotten the conditions under which he was working, until he remembered he had to call his wife before a squadron of police showed up at his door. After he had assured her that he was alright and that, no, she couldn't come home yet but to keep her phone nearby, the first of the pictures started to shoot out of the machine.

They were gruesome to say the least, but it's not as though Henry expected anything less. No, he was more perturbed by the fact that every photograph seemed to be of the same woman, in different states of undress. She had sustained an injury to her midsection, Henry guessed from a bullet, and was lying in a pool of blood. Photo after photo of similar images followed and Henry's level of unease was rising with each one. He'd never seen the Joker so fixated on one victim before. Typically, he treated them all with equal disdain.

This was big… He wasn't sure how or why, but this was important, and his hands were all over it. He suddenly felt very ill. He needed air.

Henry rushed out of the black room, glad that the film was now safe from exposure, and dashed past the Joker still at his dining room table, working on a third plate. Joker gave him a quizzical look as he ripped open the sliding door that led into his fenced-in backyard.

The fresh air wasn't working as fast as he'd hoped. Absently, he realized that he might be hyperventilating for the first time in his life, if his abnormal breathing was any indication. Instead of feeling better, he found himself dropping to his knees and throwing up the little of dinner he had that night before being interrupted.

So caught up in himself, he didn't notice the Joker watching him wheeze from the back door, head cocked curiously to the side. He didn't see the darkness that overshadowed his features after Henry had vomited. What he did see was a serrated dinner knife suddenly at his throat.

"You ruined them, didn't you?!" he venomously spat at the disoriented man. "I thought you were a professional!"

"What?! What did I ruin?!" Henry wailed in confusion.

"My pictures!" the Joker roared. "Why else would you be out here wetting yourself?!"

"No! I-," Henry protested.

"And you're telling me 'no' again!" he thundered.

"Your pictures are fine!" Henry shrieked in fear.

The Joker paused, his face gradually softened. "…They are?" he asked slowly.

"Yes!" Henry gasped.

Joker paused once more, his knife still at Henry's throat before asking, "…Then what are we doing out here?"

"I honestly have no idea," Henry replied, breathing heavily.

"Fair enough," Joker answered, before relinquishing his hold on Henry and returning to the house.

Henry stumbled in after him, trying to regain his composure, when the Joker muttered 'tick tock' in warning. He immediately held out his hands in a gesture of 'give me just a second' before darting back down the hallway and immediately returning with a stack of developed photographs.

"Fantastic!" Joker exclaimed triumphantly, after flipping through a few. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a big night in front of me. Places to kill, people to be. And I still have to make time to change," he explained, indicating his Hawaiian shirt.

"Yeah, okay," Henry offered, relief already beginning to overtake him. He literally thought he might collapse any moment as he came down from his recent adrenaline rush.

"Bye Cameraman, I'll most likely kill you tomorrow," Joker shouted behind him as he hurried out the front door.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Henry muttered, having mouthed the words 'I'll most likely kill you tomorrow' as the Joker had said them. Only after he heard the lunatic's car pull out of his driveway and fade away did he allow his legs to finally crumple beneath him in respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, you may be thinking, "Ah-ha! This is why she what inspired this story. The cover of The Killing Joke!" The fact is, no one image directly influenced me to start this piece. I'm honestly not even sure where the idea came from anymore; it was so long ago when I started it. In the middle of writing it though, I recalled the image of Joker and a camera and said, "That has to make its way in here somehow!"


	4. Chapter 4

_Present Day_

As Henry exited the subway at the part of town he'd been directed to, he noted that his surroundings were far more unsavory than before. Graffiti littered the walls with colorful displays of street artistry at best…and the warnings associated with gang tags at worst. It was clear from the layers of spray painting trying to cover up past tags, undoubtedly as the territories shifted, that this area had long been forsaken by the rest of the city as a lost cause.

Henry absently remembered that it wasn't always so bad on this side of town, but even back then it wasn't some place you'd visit after dark. He also recalled the first time he had been directed here in the middle of the night, and how nervous he had been after stepping off the subway. He had been here several times since then though, and while wary, remembered to carry himself as someone who knew where he was going and what he was doing, which was, point in fact, very much the truth.

* * *

_Seven Years Ago_

Henry was beyond frustrated, as was the editor-in-chief. The city was simply buzzing with the news and everyone wanted to hear as much gossip pertaining to it as could be gotten, but so far there was next to nothing and, instead of some impressive photos that he should have gotten by now, all they had to run with was some employee stock photos of this former psychiatrist of the Joker's. This Harleen Quinzel.

Granted, she hadn't done anything of note yet. In fact, everything the city had been presented with thus far seemed mostly speculative. The person in question _might_ be armed and dangerous. The person in question _might_ be an accomplice to the Joker. All the facts that anyone really knew was that she had been the Joker's psychiatrist, that she later had her license revoked before she was committed herself, and that she had since escaped.

It had, apparently, been about a month since she had actually made her getaway and there was some complaint about how late the asylum and police department was about coming forward to warn the population. The head of the asylum, Jeremiah Arkham, answered this concern by stating that they were hoping to find her quickly and quietly in an attempt to save what was left the doctor's reputation and that she had not actually been involved in an act of violence yet as far as anyone knew. Any further questions were consistently met with a stern 'no comment'.

Henry, to be honest, didn't know what to make of it. This was far from the first doctor assigned to the Joker's case whose life he'd destroyed in one way or another, but never before was it associated with the level of concern he could sense from the small bits of information the asylum and police department were willing to reveal. The fact that there was a possibility she could be an accomplice of some sort was certainly different. He thought it far more likely that she, whoever she was, either skipped town or very well may already be dead. Either way, he was fairly certain this story would fall flat within a short amount of time.

A familiar call came not too long after and it vaguely occurred to him that it was possible he'd get some sort of answer to the mystery of this Harleen Quinzel. There was excitement in the prospect as he knew, whatever her outcome, it'd make for another impressive story he had the opportunity to break. All the same, he tried not to get his hopes up too high and approached it like any other job.

By the time Henry arrived to his destination though, he was grinning ear to ear. The set up couldn't have been more perfect if he had orchestrated it himself. What was a regular heist on the surface ended up in a showdown with the Bat and an individual, who Henry had to assume was the missing doctor, done up in jester garb and bouncing all over the place. He snapped pictures continuously, trying to keep up with her. He was nearly out of film when he realized the Joker was making his getaway, which was usually his cue to get out of dodge as well.

As he made his way back to the street, a large man who he recognized as one of Joker's thugs grabbed him and forced him into a vehicle so quickly he scarcely had time to protest.

"What do you think you're doing?" Henry insisted. "Your boss won't be hap- WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!"

The goon swerved against traffic, racing at high speed away from the crime scene, but managed to grunt, "Boss wants t' see ya."

Henry's mood immediately sunk. He couldn't imagine why the Joker would be angry with him, but he had never been brought to him before. The Joker always preferred looking him up. "Is he upset?" he managed to ask, clutching his camera for comfort.

The large man shrugged and simply repeated, "Boss wants t' see ya."

Henry sat in silence during the rest of the brief ride, thinking of his family. Strangely, he also found himself thinking about the film he was currently carrying, which felt precious to him at the moment. He hated the thought of a rival paper getting their hands on it if something were to happen to him tonight. It occurred to him that worrying about such things right before death was abnormal,l as the car stopped and the door was opened for him.

With trepidation, Henry stepped out of the car and followed his driver inside. He had never been exposed to any of the Joker's hiding places in the past, until after his eventual arrest, but it was much as he'd expected it to be. He knew he looked out of place compared to the hired hands, but they were far too busy digging through the night's loot to give him any notice.

"Camerman!" Henry suddenly heard call out across the room. "You look upset," Joker noted, as he moved towards him. "Is anything the matter?"

"No sir, Mister Joker, sir," Henry sputtered out quickly. "It's just…you've never sent for me before."

"Indeed not. Never had to, really. You've always been so accommodating on your own," he conversed before noting how stiff his companion still was. "Oh, relax already! For god's sake, you're making me tense! I'm trying to have a pleasant conversation; is that so much to ask?"

Henry forced his muscles to relax as best he could. Feeling that he might indeed survive the night, he dared glance around curiously and then pointed pleadingly at his camera.

"Can't have that. Sorry," Joker answered his silent inquiry. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but Ratman will use any means necessary to track me down without us making it any easier for him. He's a crafty one."

"Is there a reason you brought me here?" Henry felt safe in asking.

"I saw you flashing away like crazy tonight," Joker admitted, before grinning smugly. "The people are going to eat this up, aren't they?"

"You have no idea, boss." Henry found himself smiling broadly too, envisioning tomorrow's paper.

"HI!" a chipper voice sing-songed and Henry abruptly turned to find himself face to face with the woman in question.

"Cameraman, Harley. Harley, Cameraman," Joker quickly made introductions, before returning his attention fully on Henry. "I brought you here to make sure you got the shots you needed. I don't trust she was thinking much about it."

"To be honest, I'm not sure," Henry admitted. "I kept up as best I could. She's very…energetic."

"Brother, you don't know the half of it," Joker returned, offering her an exasperated look, to which she returned a sheepish grin.

"But don't worry. With the amount I took, I'm sure I got some great shots," Henry assured.

"No harm in being doubly sure," Joker interjected. "I can't appear on the front page with her not in rare form. It'll reflect badly on me. And," he added, "I imagine you'd be the one I'd blame."

"Don't have to twist my arm," Henry finished passively, having already started setting up his tripod.

"Um, Puddin," Harley meekly spoke up as Henry adjusted his camera. "Did you know we were going to do this? I mean, does it have to be a close up?"

"Well, why on earth not?" he replied. "Since when have you been shy?"

"It's not that," she continued. "It's just…did you have to be so rough last night if you knew we were going to do this?"

The thought had clearly not occurred to him and Henry caught the Joker examining her face closely. "You're fine," he concluded. "The amount of makeup you wear would cover anything. Cameraman!" He forcibly turned her face toward Henry with one hand. "She's fine," Joker stated, but Henry knew it to be more of a question.

Henry narrowed his eyes at the woman. "Oh yeah, absolutely."

Harley didn't look completely convinced.

"No worries," Henry assured. "I'll take an extra close look after we're done and I can touch up anything I see."

"See? Cameraman is a professional. Who says you can't find good help these days?" Joker glanced into the adjacent room where a fight had broken out amongst his henchmen. "Despite how rare it may be."

With Harley appeased, the shoot should have been over and done with quickly. Little did Henry know what a production one simple photograph was going to be. They argued back and forth incessantly about poses and, every time it looked as though Joker was on the verge of a violent outburst, Harley would suddenly shield her face, shouting, "You'll mess up my make-up!" This would prompt him to turn away from her and take it out on something inanimate instead.

Henry was beginning to worry they were eventually going to ask for his input, of which he had little. He knew a good shot when he saw one, but he wasn't someone who took portraits for a living. Action shots were his bread and butter after all. Just as these thoughts were going through his mind, he found himself shouting, "FREEZE!", momentarily forgetting who he was talking to.

Both the clowns had, indeed, frozen in place with the Joker angrily gripping Harley by one wrist as she was pulling away in front of him.

"Don't move!" Henry insisted, framing them up in his camera.

"You can't be serious," Joker insisted with a sneer, but had as yet neglected to move. "She's in front of me."

"You're taller than her," he commented dryly.

"I don't care!" Joker declared. "Besides, I'm taller than everybody. See if I've ever let that keep me from the foreground before."

Henry let out a sigh of exasperation, pulling away from the viewfinder of his camera.

"See? It doesn't work," Joker continued undaunted.

Henry held up his hand to encourage them to stay in place, before approaching them. "Look up at him," he instructed Harley.

Harley did so, tentatively, unsure of what he wanted.

"More," Henry encouraged, stepping back to take it in. "And try to look like you're enjoying yourselves."

She began to get the idea and she fell into her proper role. "See?" she explained to the Joker, who still looked agitated at the way things were going. "You're my whole world!"

"Well, of course I am!" Joker replied, catching on.

"Perfect!" Henry shouted, racing back to his camera. He took several pictures of them in that position and finished with a look of triumph at what he was sure would be one of his more renowned shots.

Granted, the pose would lend itself to gossip about just how spontaneous it was, as people had done occasionally in the past. Olsen came to his mind immediately at the thought and he felt himself sneer. Not that anything ever came of it, he reminded himself.

As Henry was packing up his equipment, Joker started shouting demands for one of his boys to drive him home. Henry quickly declined the offer though. He knew that the Joker was more than capable of finding him whenever he pleased, but it was still disconcerting to find out just how aware he was of his specific address.

"Bye-bye, Cameraman," Joker began, waving him out the door.

"You'll most likely kill me tomorrow," Henry finished with a smile, envisioning the cover of tomorrow's paper.

"HA!" Joker laughed. "What'd I tell you, Harl. Ain't he a hoot?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image you were supposed to be visualizing in this chapter was the infamous Alex Ross portrait. Hopefully I portrayed that decently. Again, this story didn't start out directly inspired by any one image, but it did seem to take on that role at some point. The inspiration behind this chapter lies directly on the shoulders of RisqueSno. I knew I wanted and needed to do a Harley-centric chapter, but couldn't think of anything with any substance. She had come up with the idea of the two of them bickering over a portrait pose and wasn't sure when or where she'd use it and generously offered it to me as it'd be perfect for this story. Thanks, hon!


	5. Chapter 5

_Present Day_

The population on this side of town, unfortunately, matched the surroundings. At least, they did after dark. Henry liked to think the place looked much different during the day and that families felt somewhat comfortable raising their children here, as they surely had to do. He imagined children drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, jumping rope, and playing in the light summer rain.

As the thought crossed his mind, he realized that the downpour had died down considerable. It seemed to be leaving almost as abruptly as it had come.

Carrying himself with confidence, most that crossed his path avoided him, but did give him an odd look. He couldn't help but seem out of place as everything from his professional clothes to the way he walked gave him away. Considering that he clearly came from higher means than the rest of the neighborhood, most assumed he was looking for some sort of recreation, whether it be from a bottle, syringe, or pair of legs. He had to decline many such offers as he continued to his destination.

* * *

_Five Years Ago_

After a dutiful and illustrious career at the Gotham Gazette, Henry had eventually attained the position of editor-in-chief of the paper. Starting from an amateur photographer working for commission, it was hard to believe. In appreciation, he took his job seriously and tried to give the up-and-comers a leg up. Admittedly though, he did go out for an odd job every now and again when it was called for.

On the whole, he was extremely happy with his lot in life, happier than he thought would have ever been possible fifteen years ago. Taking that into account, Henry knew he shouldn't feel as vindictive as he did at the moment. He knew what he was about to attempt was petty and childish, not to mention dangerous. If Charlene knew he'd gone out of his way to look the Joker up, asking to speak with him after a shoot… Well, she'd be far from happy.

"What brings you here, Cameraman?" Joker asked, after they had made themselves comfortable around a coffee table, Joker relaxed in an armchair and Henry perched at the edge of his seat on an adjacent sofa.

"Well, I-," Henry began tentatively.

"Harley! Get Cameraman a drink!" Joker shouted into the direction of an adjoining room.

Henry slid a large book across the table toward him. The Joker picked it up and sneered at the cover. "No thanks," he quipped, tossing the book back onto the table.

Truth be told, Henry felt the same level of disgust looking at the cover. Superman heroically posed, taking off to defend Metropolis yet again. A coffee book table full of the best photographs of everyone's favorite hero, how could it not be a hit?

"Do you know how successful this book has been?" Henry continued. "And it's only been on the market two weeks!"

"I fail to see what any of this has to do with me," Joker drawled with disinterest before his voice took a dangerous edge. "I'm beginning to think you are wasting my time."

"We need to make one," Henry hurried to the point, picking up the book once more. "Imagine _your_ face on the cover instead."

"YES!" Joker exclaimed enthusiastically, instantly sitting up straighter; his eyes were positively gleaming.

"And," Henry continued excitedly, "I'll finally get to use all those photos the paper deemed too graphic."

"I didn't know they did that," Joker commented, aghast.

"Never told you," Henry admitted. "Knew it'd piss you off."

"It does, indeed," Joker verified.

"Doesn't matter now. They can't control this." Henry waved the book in air for emphasis.

"Harley!" Joker included her excitedly when she entered the room, drinks in hand. "Cameraman is going to put me on everyone's coffee table!"

"That's wonderful, Puddin'," Harley beamed, still in full uniform following the night's events, as she handed out drinks. "Do I get to be in it?"

"Are you kidding?" Henry chortled. "You're going to get a whole chapter."

"Now wait a minute." Joker's voice dropped an octave. "I never agreed to that."

"Oh, please, Puddin'!" Harley pleaded, scurrying to his side. "Just one chapter." She held her fingers close together. "An itty-bitty one."

"You get the whole book," Henry argued rationally. "It's just one chapter."

"You know me better than that, Cameraman," Joker commented dryly, pointedly ignoring Harley's pleas.

"I know that you're a showman, Mr. Joker. The best there is," Henry complimented. "And, as any showman knows, you have to give the people what they want."

Joker turned, looking Harley up and down, her hands clasped together in a begging gesture. Finally he clicked his tongue and said, "You're lucky you fill in that get-up so well."

"YAY!" Harley cheered, jumping into the air victoriously before smothering him with attention. "You are the best, most understanding, most-"

"Yes, yes, I know!" Joker pried her arms off of him. "Knock it off before I change my mind." He smacked her backside sharply and she let out a yelp. "Now get out of here. The men-folk are talking."

Harley giggled and hurried out of the room, Joker watching her as she left. "What the people want is idiotic," he added as an afterthought.

Henry shrugged in response.

"I'll entrust the details of this little project to you," Joker stated, getting back down to business. "But I don't want anything published before I approve it."

"Of course," Henry replied amicably, glancing back down at the image of Superman on the table. "We're going to outsell this book by a mile," he spat. "People are always more fascinated in the macabre. You know that."

"You know I do." Joker tilted his head curiously to the side, eyeing the man. "But what is this tone I hear?"

Henry pointed to the name on the cover with disdain. "Olsen," he scornfully answered.

Joker laughed. "Cameraman has an arch-nemesis. I love it!"

* * *

Henry couldn't remember a time he'd felt more impatient. The book had been finished for months, but he couldn't even begin the publication process. It was a grossly inconvenient time for the Joker to get himself locked up once again.

The worst part was fending off his wife's questions. The process of putting a book together wasn't one he had ever attempted before and it took up massive amounts of his time. He had secretly told Charlene that he was working on a special project, but couldn't tell her anymore quite yet. He was more than aware at how put off she'd be if she knew the particulars, so held back on the details as long as he could. But now the project was finished and he still couldn't reveal anything to her and her curiosity was only mounting as time went by.

For the first time, when it was reported that the Joker had made yet another miraculous escape from Arkham, Henry nearly cheered. He probably would have if his wife hadn't been in the room at the time.

After obtaining his long awaited approval, the book finally went to publication. He felt bad doing so without first speaking to his wife, but this was one of those instances where he knew it'd be better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

The book was, unsurprisingly, an overnight success. Henry really hadn't considered what would accompany that, his only thought being to one up Olsen. Within the first twenty-four hours he unexpectedly had reporters at his door, calls about a book tour, and talk show hosts requesting an opportunity to promote his book live.

Henry might have enjoyed the attention if not for Charlene, who was less than happy.

"This was your project?!" she demanded and Henry wisely declined to interrupt, letting her vent. "A book glorifying… What were you thinking?! And now we're being hounded at our front door! The phone won't stop ringing!"

Henry silently turned his laptop toward her as she ranted. "Just look," he said softly.

She glared at him before turning her gaze onto the screen which was currently showing their bank account balance. Her eyes went wide, until she caught herself, thinning her lips.

"You're taking me to Fiji," she declared unequivocally.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Present Day_

Nearly at his destination, Henry reflected on his many accomplishments.

He had risen in ranks as high as someone in his field was able to rise. His Joker book had made him a bundle, outselling Olsen's by a wide margin. Henry smirked at the thought and he found it gave him a skip in his step

He had provided a wonderful life for his family. His stepson, in fact, admired him enough that he decided to follow in his footsteps in the news industry, albeit as a writer and through internet media. The industry was changing drastically and Henry knew it was time for him to bow out gracefully.

At the end of the day, he was one of the few people that were able to say he was lucky enough to make a living doing something he loved.

When he finally arrived, there was no pomp and circumstance surrounding his final shoot. There was no reason to expect any. After all, it wasn't as though Joker knew about his retirement, nor was there any reason to believe he'd care even if he did.

Still, following the shoot, when he heard the Joker's familiar farewell, he thought it only appropriate to provide an explanation as to why he shouldn't expect him again.

"Bye, Cameraman. I'll most likely kill you tomorrow," Joker casually remarked, making an exit with Harley by his side.

"Probably not," Henry quipped, pausing momentarily in his packing.

Joker stopped abruptly mid-step. "Come again?"

"Yeah, I'm kind of done. I'm retiring today. Got a watch and everything." He brandished his wrist in proof before bending back down to finish packing up.

"Congratulations," Harley sang. "Wish I could get this one to settle down," she joked, lightly jabbing the Joker with her shoulder.

"Good luck with that," Henry laughed, closing a case with his equipment and rising to his feet. "The wife is pretty excited about it. We're going to do some travel-" He was interrupted by the sudden presence of something cold and metallic on his back.

Henry's mouth hung open momentarily at the realization of what was about to happen. He couldn't quite form any coherent thought beyond wondering how he expected this to end any differently. The last thing he heard before the dreadful gunshot was the Joker's foreboding voice. "I don't recall offering a retirement plan."

Henry collapsed instantly. He tried vainly to speak, but one of his lungs was already quickly filling with fluid and nothing would come out. Henry noted that Harley briefly regarded him with a forlorn expression and appeared to be about to say something to him, when she turned to the Joker instead.

"Well," she admitted. "You did warn him."

"I know! I warned him a lot!" he exclaimed. "I'll tell you the truth Harley: some people show no appreciation whatsoever."

At first Henry felt it strange that they were acting as though he were already gone. But then, as he started to choke on his own blood, he realized he might as well be.

"I suppose it's only fair we give him a proper sendoff though," Joker conceded, taking the camera from around Henry's neck and pointing it at him. "Now, like you mean it," Joker instructed.

Henry gasped for air, but it came out as more of a gurgle.

"There ya go!" Joker congratulated, snapping a picture and then placing the camera back on his chest.

The panic that had built up in Henry suddenly ended. He vaguely wondered if he'd make the front page as the world slowly faded away.

END


End file.
